


Stories

by isuilde



Series: Celeng 10 Hari Kreatif Bersama Tante-Tante Fujo [2]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Celeng 10 Hari Kreatif Bersama Tante-Tante Fujo, Gen, Unrepentant Fluff, followed by a dash of angst post-anime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One quiet afternoon in HOMRA, Totsuka Tatara brings books, Izumo watches in amusement, and Anna asks Mikoto to read for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stories

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the Celeng 10 Hari Kreatif Bersama Tante-Tante Fujo challenge, which I lost because the rest of the participants posted at ungodly hour. /pouts
> 
> lol, joking aside, this is dedicated to everyone who have seen Missing Kings or have read the summary. Have some fluff, heal yourself, then let's come back to the clusterfuck that is the [K] universe, sobbing all the while.

There’s a point in her life when Tatara comes over into the bar with stacks of books under his arms, inside his bag, and on his head.

“Anna!” he calls, always with a smile that lights up the entire room. Anna looks up, simply because she likes the way Tatara’s smile widen when she turns her attention to him at the first call. “Come and look at these!”

Books—picture books, coloring books, fairy tale books—are not foreign to her. Her aunt used to tell her bedtime stories, before she got carted to the facility and, later, was saved by the red delinquents she now calls family. But as she scoots closer to Tatara, tiny fingers reaching out to run themselves over at the dusty covers, it feels like she’s touching something new.

“Where’d you get these?” Izumo pipes up from the bar, looking over Mikoto’s shoulder with an amused gaze.

“I pulled them out of the old boxes in my attic when I was looking for a recipe book—“ Tatara trails off, eyebrows furrowing as he flips and skims the books, clearly looking for a specific one. Anna watches the bindings bend under the tips of Tatara’s fingers, half-fascinated by the way those old books don’t break when they seem so fragile with age.

And then her eyes catch a glimpse of red—bright and stark against the rest of white and black that is her world, and before she knows it, she’s reaching out, pulling the book closer.

Tatara brightens. “Ah, I was looking for that!”

It’s some sort of Draw-It-Yourself book; with pages and pages of short stories and empty spaces for kids to draw in. It’s thin—the paper covering the binding flaking away under her fingers, but the cover is bright red, the color of flame, the color of HOMRA, the color of Mikoto. She grips it very carefully, looks up at Tatara, who simply beams back at her encouragingly.

She takes a breath and opens the book carefully.

The pages are brittle between the tips of her fingers, dust clinging to each page. She shuffles so that her skirt won’t get dirty—Izumo doesn’t like it when Anna’s clothes get dirty, because he says Anna is their Princess and a Princess shouldn’t dress the way Misaki or Saruhiko looks after they get into a fight. She takes a look at the first page—

_Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a Red King._

—and sees a crude, childish hand drawing of stickman wearing a crown in red crayons.

“Fuh,” slips out of her lips, and she clasps her hands over her mouth. It’s too late, though, because Tatara is looking at her, eyes dancing, and Izumo is tilting his head curiously. Mikoto, though, doesn’t turn around, just pats her on the head from his seat on the bar.

“Anna,” Izumo says, “Did you just laugh?”

She shakes her head, blinking up with her usual impassive face, and holds up the book so Izumo could see it clearly.

The corners of Izumo’s lips twitch up. “Of all things you’re good at, Totsuka, I think you shouldn’t try your hands at drawing.”

But there are more stickmen drawn all over the next pages, all in red crayons. Crude lines making simple shapes of mountains, rivers, trees, people. Anna stares, at the striking red standing out in her white-and-black world, dark and rich, and it’s different, she realizes. It’s different from Mikoto’s red, because there’s definitely nothing that is more beautiful than Mikoto’s red, but these red lines peppering the papers were warm.

It’s Tatara’s red.

“Mikoto,” she calls, and Mikoto turns to her. Mikoto never fails to turn to her, when she calls. “Read.”

Izumo smothers a laugh behind a cough, but Tatara simply beams like he’s no older than Anna, his grin warm and happy. “Yes, King, please read to us!”

Mikoto stares at them for a long time, turns to Izumo, who hides his smile behind the rim of the wine glass, and sighs inaudibly. He extends a hand, and Anna clambers up onto the bar stool next to Mikoto—Izumo’s chiding her, “Careful Anna, you’ll fall,”—and gives him the book.

The Red King takes a look at the book, fingers flipping over the pages, and Anna gives herself a second to admire the combination of Mikoto’s red and the red that is Tatara’s drawing on the book.

Tatara settles on her other side. “Well, King?”

“It’s a good way to spend the evening,” Izumo continues, leaning onto the bar with a smile.

Mikoto breathes out the last of the smoke in his lungs, and begins, stringing words in the book with his deep, lazy voice.

“Once upon a time—“

** \-----o0o----- **

When they burn Mikoto, Anna throws the book into the pyre, under the gaze of Izumo and the rest of HOMRA.

Izumo stands behind her, close enough for her to feel his steady presence, but far enough that she doesn’t feel him tremble. She knows he trembles, though, knows how cluttered Izumo’s mind right now. She can hear his thoughts whizzing around—grieve and pride and loneliness warring with guilt and anger and confusion. Izumo never hides anything from her, after all.

She watches the book engulfed in a brilliant red that is Izumo’s fire, burning the last remnants of their King, and prays Tatara and Mikoto would fine one another, wherever they are now.

She swallows, and swallows again when the bitterness at the back of her throat doesn’t disappear, and listens to Izumo’s thoughts.

_How about our princess_ , is the accusation she hears.  _Doesn’t she matter? Don’t us matter?_

She steps back and takes Izumo’s hand into her own. Izumo stands, tall and rigid, unblinking eyes staring at the flame licking the midnight sky. He doesn’t hold her hand back.

Anna wonders if any of them have any tears left behind, after Tatara and Mikoto’s gone.

** \-----o0o----- **


End file.
